


Cat Nip

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor doesn't think of himself as a cat person, but cats tend to believe otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Nip

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Cat Nip  
>  Author: [](http://x-los.livejournal.com/profile)[**x_los**](http://x-los.livejournal.com/)   
>  Rating: NC-17  
>  Pairing: Five/Cheetah!Master  
>  Summary: The Doctor doesn't think of himself as a cat person, but cats tend to believe otherwise.  
>  Beta: [](http://aralias.livejournal.com/profile)[**aralias**](http://aralias.livejournal.com/)   
>  A/N: edited request for [](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/profile)[**best_enemies**](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/)   [Anon Meme](http://community.livejournal.com/best_enemies/13938.html). if you'd like, here's the [original version](http://x-losfic.livejournal.com/21684.html#cutid1). TARDIS-speak concept is [](http://draegonhawke.livejournal.com/profile)[**draegonhawke**](http://draegonhawke.livejournal.com/)  's.

The Doctor knew something was off when the Master’s TARDIS materialized across the street. Not that he was unaccustomed to the Master’s TARDIS stalking him—it just usually had the Master in it at the time. The ship was disguised as a billboard, and even aside from the absence of the other Time Lord’s mental signature, the Doctor knew the Master wasn’t at home, because he would jump into another singularity before he allowed his TARDIS to advertise The Human League’s _Dare._ The orphaned TARDIS psychically bleated at him, making no aggressive gesture.

He’d just dropped Tegan home on the day of her Aunt’s funeral. Nyssa had insisted on coming along despite Tegan’s protests that she’d like to be alone. The Doctor was grateful that Nyssa, who knew how to be sympathetic and supportive without coddling, hadn’t taken Tegan at her word. He didn’t feel comfortable intruding on her grief himself, partly because he felt somewhat responsible for it.

The TARDIS across the street hesitated for a moment, dematerialized and then shimmered back into being right next to him, so close that the Doctor involuntarily stepped back. This time she was a glossy red phone booth—a shape soothingly similar to that of his own TARDIS, but which still proudly asserted her own uniqueness. It was as if she was trying to communicate with him.

The Doctor probed it cautiously. No Master at all. The Doctor thought of _Alice in Wonderland,_ smiles and cats, and wondered how machine and Master might have come to be separated.

The Master couldn’t be _dead._ If he were, his TADRIS would have been reduced to a maddened husk. It would be wandering the Howling, keening its loss to the other TARDIS-corpses it encountered, not trying to politely catch the attention of its owner’s nemesis in 20th century London.

He was never going to find out what all this was about unless he swallowed his paranoid suspicion that this could be part of some ludicrously complicated trap and just talked to the thing. Cautiously, the Doctor lowered his outer-most defense, and communication exploded in a grateful rush.

_:: You ! [HE(mine)] requires repair wrt instance{is/will be} broken:: .: {altered from specifications!}{malfunctioning!} (YOU.fix) NOW. ::_

_But where is he?_ The Doctor was careful to make sure his genuine befuddlement came across clearly, so it wouldn’t be lost in the associated cloud of thoughts of distrust and doubt.

The TARDIS’s annoyance with him for even the slightest hesitation in acceding to her demands, however, was perhaps the most unmistakably clear thing he had ever felt. If she had any agenda beyond rescuing her pilot, she was keeping it very well guarded indeed.

_:: issue{location(lost)}!! :: :: YOU cometo.{location(within)}{instance(now)} ! ! ! ::_

“But what’s happened?” the Doctor snapped aloud. “I can’t go gallivanting across the universe at the beck and call of the TARDIS of a man who’s tried to kill me more times than I can count—and that’s saying something because I’m rather a proficient counter. Now I’m quite sorry, but until you can explain—”

_:: [HE(mine)]{unknow}me!! [HE(mine)]{unlove}me!! DN Enter &Talk&Me{FEARS} You [HE(mine)]{Know}, You(make [HE(mine)]) > {instance(past)} ∴ YOU COMETO.{LOCATION(HERE)}. YOU HELP. ::_

The Doctor winced at her blistering intensity. Like her Master, this TARDIS could be heavy-handed and determined. Whatever else, he was now entirely convinced of the TARDIS’s sincerity of purpose.

“I’ll follow you,” the Doctor compromised. He could always return to this point to pick up Nyssa and Tegan, regardless of how long this errand took. At least they were somewhere relatively safe.

 _:: Acceptable. ::_ the Master’s TARDIS huffed. She sent a worried, dense greeting/communiqué to the Doctor’s own TARDIS. He could feel it glancing around the edges of his psychic periphery. It was just discernable enough that he felt uncomfortable, as though he were being watched or talked about. This sort of gossip never failed to trickle down to the Time Lords the ships were bound to, and if the Master heard about his recent abject failure to find Heathrow, which scores of human pilots managed to located without fail on a daily basis, he’d never hear the end of it. He didn’t want a repeat of the Metabilis 3 incident, he thought sourly, frowning and shutting his TARDIS’s door with a sulky slam.

*

The Master had no intention of entering the Doctor’s TARDIS. He crouched on his haunches ten feet from the open doors, sniffing, his nose wrinkling at the spicy artron energy crackling in the air. The other cats had run, despite the Master’s growls, which commanded them to hold their ground. Their terror of that smell was stronger even than their fear of the pack leader.

The Master alone was un-cowed, even intrigued by the scent. His eyes flickered: they followed the man moving inside the shadowed depths of the strange cave as intently as if he were prey. He was reminded that breakfast had struggled, and the killing had mussed him. Casually the Master lifted a hand to his mouth and swiped a rough tongue over the bloody cuff of his sleeve, feeling the need to groom himself in the blond man’s presence. But even so, he wouldn’t get closer to the box.

Inside the TARDIS, unwilling to expose himself to whatever atmospheric components had deranged the Master, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his plimsoles. It seemed the Master had been less affected by whatever this viral agent was than the other victims he had seen running away from the TARDIS when he first opened the door. The Master displayed teeth, claws, and altered behavior, but he’d not suffered the full-on transformation the other creatures had sported. Time Lord geneticists, who waxed poetic on innate Gallifreyan biological superiority, would just _love_ this. The Doctor resolved never to tell them about it.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he tried, lamely, dangling a bit of wire he’d pulled from under the console enticingly. In a supremely feline gesture that was not at all a product of biological alteration, the Master arched a curious eyebrow, as if amused by the display.

The Doctor sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He’d never learn anything at this rate—there had to be _some_ way of enticing the Master into coming closer. The Master’s TARDIS was no help at all—she was hanging back in the void, unwilling to jeopardize the healing she was convinced the Doctor could lay on her owner. It wasn’t as if he had a giant slab of meat on board he could tempt the Master with—though he supposed he could pop off to the butchers back on Earth and get one. But there had to be a more direct solution—what did cats like? String had failed. Perhaps mittens? Or was that just kittens? Cream? He had the makings of a cream tea lying about, he knew that much, and a bowl of cream, come to think of it—oh, or catnip! And he had a full greenhouse, _somewhere_ in the TARDIS! Within that vast collection he knew he’d find some representative of genus Nepeta!

“Just a minute!” The Doctor held up a finger to an uncomprehending Master before whirling away, cricket coat flapping.

The Master growled, low and dangerous, at the sudden disappearance of his pretty, deeply familiar toy. His hackles only smoothed back down when the small, golden animal finally returned. It began whacking at some leaves and stems with a mortal and pestle. The Master smiled indulgently, feeling a faint trace of nostalgia as he watched the creature work. Such a busy thing. Its pale lips fixed in determined concentration. The Master purred in approval when it- no, _he_ , discarded his coverings (‘coat and jumper’ came to him softly, sluggishly) and worked in 'shirtsleeves' and 'braces'. Those words came a touch more readily, as if one thought precipitated the next. Faster and faster thoughts came, the texture of them pleasingly familiar in his mind. But they did nothing to blunt his purpose. If he’d had a proper tail, it would have been flicking back and forth. Idly, the Master adjusted the cuffs of the somewhat tattered remnants of his suit as the animal crammed the yield into a vial, jabbering on about something—an ‘atomizer.’

“There!” the creature pronounced, spraying his wrists and neck with the substance and flicking something—a dial on the central console, a long-dormant portion of the Master's mind stirred to provide. “Now, the TARDIS shielding follows the same principle as police glass. Atoms can flow out, as the sound waves are doing quite literally as we speak, so you’ll be able to detect the attractant. Contaminants, however, can’t pass through the shield. Come on, Master—can’t you smell it? It mimics a feline pheromone—between that and whatever you can remember of Gallifreyan scent, putting some on my skin might _just_ be enough to make you respond—oh, and here you come!”

The Doctor seemed delighted with himself as the Master started to pad towards the TARDIS, sniffing cautiously. His grin took on a more panicked edge as the Master, gathering speed, charged the door. The Doctor adjusted the barrier so that it would permit the Master’s entry and stepped out of the way as the Master slammed into the console room, eyes wide, nose twitching, hair free of its normal gelled neatness.

“Hello,” the Doctor tried in a soothing voice, backing up as the Master, dark eyed, stalked him back into the rondell-covered wall, “Er, _good_ kitty. I’m going to walk you to the med bay. I think—”

The Master rubbed his nose against the Doctor’s neck, where he’d sprayed the substance like perfume, and purred. The Doctor’s breath caught.

“Perhaps you don’t properly remember,” he tried, “what a, er, _private_ area that is for—gah!” The Master was licking it off his neck, warm and wet, rough tongue scraping against the delicate skin.

“Perhaps spraying _myself_ with the nepeta wasn’t my wisest—” the Doctor’s voice rose to ever squeakier heights.

The Master wrapped his hands around the Doctor’s shoulders and shoved him down, following him, licking at his wrists to get more of the chemical. He forced the Doctor completely to the floor and rolled his weight on top of his caught prey, pawing at him.

“This is a perfectly normal reaction to catnip,” the Doctor assured himself as the Master mewled and nuzzled his neck. The Doctor swallowed and willed himself to ignore the stiff heaviness pressing against him through the Master’s suit. “One I should have anticipated. It’s quite all right. I won’t take it personally. Cats typically loose interest after a few minutes, and then there’s a refractory period of a few hours before nepeta is effective again. You may even try and attack me when the spray looses its charm. While I’m certain you could outrun me on open ground, altered as you are, if I ask for her help the TARDIS will arrange her corridors so as to let me escape and trap you in a loop. I expect you’ll run until you exhaust yourself, and then you’ll be docile enough for me to see what I can do about finding a cure.”

The Master ignored the Doctor’s attempts to share The Plan, scooting down his body.

“What are you—” The Doctor gasped and sputtered as the nuzzling zeroed in on the erection he’d been desperately struggling to suppress.

“You need to stop,” he told the Master sternly. “Listen to me,” he applied a bit of psychic pressure with his tone. Grudgingly, the Master looked up, though as usual his obedience was only one-hearted. He listened, granted, but he ran a lazy, free hand over the length of the Doctor’s trapped, swollen erection while he did it. “Listen, if I let you do this you’d be disgusted with yourself afterwards, and you’d be none too pleased with me, either. This isn’t—you don’t feel this way about me, trust me on that, and you’d never—”

The Doctor stopped abruptly as he considered it. No. No, the Master didn’t—and yet—and there was the time—and the thing with the Autons—and all the _fencing_ —and the Master never did manage to properly kill him—oh god, and the valeriana—but, none of it signified, because he couldn’t have missed something _that_ obvious, could—

The Master managed to smirk around fangs. The Doctor swallowed. “Or perhaps you’d be perfectly fine with it,” he allowed, “but that’s still no reason—excuse me, I quite liked those!” The Doctor’s period of moral indecision over, the Master was perfectly content to shred his trousers to ribbons, pushing his weight down on the man when he struggled, sucking his neck to show him that this wasn’t an attack, that he was safe. He nudged the Doctor over onto his stomach, apparently content with gentle encouragement as long as the Doctor cooperated, but when the Doctor attempted to crawl out of his reach he hissed and roughly dragged him back.

“Wait,” the Doctor panted, “Wait just a second. If we’re going to go through with this—this _insanity,_ we’re going to need _something._ I’m going to have to have _something.”_ He squirmed around so he could face the Master again. “All right?” He psychically reinforced how trustworthy he was, how willing. “If I stay in your sight, will you let me fetch it?”

Slowly, the Master nodded. The Doctor, severely disheveled, tried to gather the remains of his trousers about him. He stumbled up and away, approaching the botanical sampler kit he’d used to make his fateful nepeta spray. He rummaged in the kit for a salve. When he found some he absently swirled a bit more of the crushed plant essence into it with a finger - if the nepeta wore off in the middle of the encounter the Master could become violent: it couldn’t hurt to topically introduce more of the aphrodisiac into his system, just in case.

Looking up, the Doctor noticed how very close to the door he was. If he could make it past the threshold, the TARDIS would take care of the rest. He could achieve escape velocity from this moral black hole, and avoid taking advantage of the Master in a highly questionable mental state. Didn’t he have some responsibility to run from this encounter if he possibly could—

A low growl sounded right behind him, and the Master shoved him back to the ground. He’d forgotten to close that telepathic connection entirely, and apparently the Master could still parse ‘thinking about leaving.’

“Wait!” With a desperate flail the Doctor reached behind him before the Master could shove himself in, slicking the salve onto any skin he could reach. The Master purred as he liberally, blindly coated the base and the shaft of the Master’s cock before his fingers reached the peculiarly-shaped, almost _barbed_ sort of head.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Oh, you have _got_ to be kid—” The word got lost in a strangled scream as, eager to get on with it, the Master shoved himself in.

“Of all the feline traits, you just _had_ to pick up a serrated, barbed—oh god,” the Doctor panted as the Master raked up inside him, squirmed under the onslaught. “Actually that feels—ngh!” The Doctor dropped slack as the long, exquisitely painful push of the organ inside him ended in a sharp jab at his prostate. He whimpered, and above him the Master managed a full, proper chuckle.

“Well, you’re chipper, aren’t you?” The Doctor rolled his eyes, both wincing and sucking in a moan at another deep thrust. He didn’t typically like to mix sex and pain. He’d been tied up and tortured too often by people who seriously meant it to find it diverting in play. But he had to admit, this hurt very _nicely._ It made him think entirely inappropriate things--that the Master must be even better at this when he was in full possession of his right mind, for example.

Enmity aside, he appreciated the Master’s intellect, and even though he’d never tell the man as much, he’d always found their encounters stimulating. Sex would no doubt force a saner Master to employ that wild creativity of his towards a higher end than mad scheming. And as much as the Doctor felt the compliment of being the focus of all that planning _,_ how much better would such _attention_ feel in bed? How much better would that suggestive voice of his sound if it were murmuring salacious encouragement? He swallowed. “Can you say anything, or has speech entirely deserted you?”

“Doctorrrrrr,” the Master purred obligingly—not like he always purred, but so strongly his entire body vibrated behind and inside the Doctor’s. He pulled the Doctor to his knees and reached around, seizing the Doctor’s cock, stroking it in a disjointed rhythm, out of time with his thrusts. The Doctor quaked in a wild, messy deluge of feeling.

“Ah,” he gasped, “Well, at least you know who I am. I’d hate to think I could have been just anyone.”

Another rumbling chuckle from the Master, and then a series of frantic thrusts. He came roughly, biting the Doctor’s sensitive neck. He pulled out with an audible pop before the Doctor had quite finished, the scrape of his cock making the Doctor suck air through his teeth at the pain.

The Doctor frowned and was about to make some remark about how that was just _typical_ of the Master—all planning and build up with a completely botched conclusion—when the Master authoritatively flipped him right-side up and began slowly licking the Doctor’s cock with his rough tongue, as if he were _grooming_ him. The Doctor gasped and twitched and fisted his hand in the Master’s dark, disheveled hair.

 _“Oh,”_ he shivered. “Oh that’s, that’s, oh _Master!”_

As if in response to his name, the Master stopped flicking his tongue, and took the full length of him into his mouth and sucked. He ran a sharp claw from the Doctor’s neck to his navel, and then down his right thigh, leaving raised white lines in the Doctor’s skin. Not drawing blood, simply suggesting his ability to do so. The Doctor, wide-eyed, arched his back and came into his mouth.

The Master smiled smugly at the Doctor as he panted, trying to recover. He licked his lips exactly like a cat with cream, then fastidiously licked the side of the Doctor’s face. He nuzzled at his hair, batting the bright strands with sated glee. Apparently it was social grooming hour.

“What am I going to do with you?” The Doctor sighed, stretching his achingly weary body and kicking off the ruined, messy remains of his clothing. He considered the question. He should feed the Master, for a start. Then he could begin running some tests and start searching for a cure. Now that the other man was satisfied he might be calm enough to work with.

The Doctor scratched absently behind the Master’s ears, smiling to himself at the pleased rumble that produced. He stroked the Master’s back in lazy pets before standing to leave. The Master gave a warning growl at that, which he ignored. Remembering the last time he’d attempted to leave, however, the Doctor opened a psychic link between them. The Master settled, soothed by the knowledge that the Doctor wasn’t going far.

He returned from the kitchen with the only appropriate fodder he had on hand—a big bowl of cream. He set it down before the Master and sat on the floor across from him, cross-legged. The Master lapped unashamedly at his offering, then pulled back, seeming to consider it. He sat back up and trailed a finger through the thick, viscous cream, then grabbed the bowl in both hands.

“Oh, you can still manipulate tools!” the Doctor said, enthused. “That’s wonderful. In that case I’m _sure_ we’ll have you feeling yourself again in—wait,” the Doctor said warily, eyeing the Master’s growing smirk, “wait, what are you doing?”

The Master slammed the Doctor to the floor with one hand and poured some cream over his stomach with the other. He set the bowl back down and contentedly lapped his cream from the Doctor’s chest, raking his rough tongue across the abdominal muscles to catch every drop. The Doctor coughed self-consciously and the Master narrowed his eyes, frowning at how this caused his platter to shake.

Of course most felines would be ready to mate again within five to thirty minutes of the first encounter, and one could expect as many as thirty such copulations during a single heat cycle. The Doctor winced. “I’ve not planned properly for this, have I?” He sighed, resigned himself and scritched behind the Master’s ears again. “Good kitty. Could I be on top this time?”

The Master cocked his head to one side and gave him an interrogative look, a finger slipping down to the Doctor’s entrance with lazy authority.

“Apparently not,” the Doctor concluded, letting the Master finish the cream before twisting to sit up. “But I have an idea.” He applied more salve to the Master’s cock. Stroking firmly, he managed to coax an amused, tolerant Master to lie back. The Doctor straddled him, took a deep breath, and then raised his hips and painstakingly rocked his way down the Master’s erect cock. He rode him gingerly, letting the barbs scrape only slightly as he worked himself on the shaft. The Master seemed perfectly amenable to this arrangement, using his claws to knead the Doctor’s ass.

“We’ll have you cured soon enough,” the Doctor promised breathily. “And then I’ll return to your TARDIS. And at least _once,_ dammit, I’m going to do this when you’re fully self-aware and have _normal_ sexual organs. Do you hear me?”

“Doctorrrrr.”

The Doctor sighed. “Close enough.” 


End file.
